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by FancyFish



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game), Swan Lake & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyFish/pseuds/FancyFish
Summary: "We don't fall in love with people because they're good people. We fall in love with people whose darkness we recognise. You can fall in love with a person for all of the right reasons, but that kind of love can still fall apart. But when you fall in love with a person because your monsters have found a home in them-- that's the kind of love that owns your skin and bones. Love, I am convinced, is found in the darkness. It is the candle in the night."- C. Joybell C.
Relationships: Audwin/Signy (Dress Up! Time Princess)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

Signy, the only child and heir of King Edward XII and the late Queen Beatrice (may she rest in peace), grows up a desperately lonely soul, who - perhaps inevitably, and without quite realizing it - devotes herself to a search for love. 

Not just _any_ love, of course. _True_ love, true connection, the kind where another person feels like home. 

She does not have many people that stay close enough, long enough, for her to test.

She thinks she might have had it, once upon a time when Mother (may she rest in peace) was alive - but her memories yield nothing but vague emotions of warmth and comfort.

As for Father - Hundingas is small, outmatched enough that Father spends hours locked away embroiled in state affairs, attempting to keep the peace. He is a good king - or at least, a self-sacrificing one - but he is not, perhaps, the best father. He cares for her, Signy knows, but the way he loves her is the way one loves a treasured keepsake. Carefully, lest you break it; perchance taken off the shelf a time or two and dusted off, but certainly not given any real use or experience. 

She wonders if she might have it again (that is, if she ever had it to begin with), when Ms. Roslin is hired, but she quickly learns that the way Ms. Roslin loves her is the way one loves a favorite pet. With fond exasperation towards mischief, rewards for good behavior, and boundaries or rules that can always be bent with enough begging. Ms. Roslin cares for Signy, but it is not true love. 

Uncle Arthur - Chief Minister - regards her as one does a distant, though important, relation. He cares for her from a sense of obligation, of duty, born more from her future role than any kind of familial attachment or knowledge of who she is.

Most other people she sees in flashes - maids that tend the fires and scurry the second she approaches, castle guards that bow gravely but otherwise ignore her, visitors that stay and are gone within the week. There are a few childhood acquaintances, bored offspring of dignitaries who she might be allowed to play with for an hour or two when Father wants to trot her out and she's finished her studies. These, she knows, do not love her either, but her world is tiny enough, companionship limited enough, that she takes careful note of each and every one anyways. 

Once she figures out that there is nothing for her in the living world, she turns to the written one - poems and songs and stories from palace scrolls, devoured in secret after her assignments are completed. She experiences true love as vicariously as she can, true love between friends and families and lovers, and for a while this is enough.

As she grows, however, it does not last, this living through dried ink on old paper. After another birthday ball filled with empty well-wishes and hollow toasts, her heart finally cracks, and releases a wave of despair so thick and smothering that if she stays in her castle she feels she will drown. 

Signy has never done anything quite so rebellious before (perhaps out of a desperate wish that if she is good continually they might someday love her), but she is finally realizing that the future will likely be as meaningless as her past and present, and she flees.

Hundingas, the capitol, does not lie in a city or town, but within a thick forest that has protected it as well as any fortress wall; she has never so much as stepped foot inside, has merely glimpsed the treetops over garden walls during supervised walks, and mere minutes into her flight Signy finds that she is well and truly lost. 

However, she finds she prefers the distracting sensation of being physically lost to the gaping hole in her soul, and so instead of turning back and trying to find a way back to the castle she wanders aimlessly onward. 

When she is finally hungry and thirsty and tired enough to long for her bed, she collapses beside a lake, a lake with the most lovely birds she's ever seen, and Signy meets the first true friend she has ever had. 

This seals up the crack in her heart well enough for her to ask the way back to the castle, and every time in the days thereafter that the crack starts to open again she steals back to her forest and her lake and her Snowy. 

Eventually she makes friends with other animals, deer and squirrels and rabbits that are first drawn to the bread and seed she brings and later drawn to her, herself. And if her first (remembered, reciprocated) true loves are animals, well, people have so far proven to be disappointing in that aspect, and she'll take what she can get.

Signy finds she no longer cares so much about being good, no longer relies quite so heavily on people for connection. She still studies and completes schoolwork and lessons particular to royalty, still dines with Father and attends balls, but every chance she gets she slips from the palace, runs away to the only place she feels alive, feels valued for herself.

This continues for years, until it's brought to a screeching halt by the announcement of her coming-of-age ceremony. 

A coming-of-age ceremony to be abruptly brought forward, at which she is expected to chose a husband and be the official crown heir.

Despite years of formal tutoring, Signy has only vague notions of what actually applying that education entails, and absolutely no desire to get married (beyond the last fading hope of a fairytale dream she'd given up on long ago - she knows how princesses marry, and it's not for anything as genuine as love). 

But while Signy may be spoiled - sheltered - willful - wishful, she is not stupid, and she is not selfish. She accepts the upcoming end of her discovered happiness with as good a grace as she can muster, shoulders her suddenly pressing responsibilities with as much strength as she can bring to bear.

She escapes once, to bring the news of her impending engagement and a lack of future visits. She isn't sure how much they truly understand, but Snowy's dark eyes at least hold an unnatural knowing, an almost-human sorrow, as he offers his wings for comfort. 

The princes and nobles arrive, and the last shreds of her wish for happily-ever-after are almost immediately destroyed. Her scrolls say that love can grow, but surely there must be _something_ sturdy to start to build upon, and when she looks at them she sees naught but sand. Not a single one is actually interested in _her,_ but rather in what she can give them. They are loud, and crass, and compete and posture for her favor like a flock of glittery, brightly-colored roosters. (Her swans would never be so undignified). She thinks she could stand Raymond, or perhaps Honore, but that is all she will feel for her fiance, the eventual king and co-ruler of her country and future father of her children, and she feels the patched-up crack begin to weep again.

Of course, the suitors chose hunting to gain her favor, and well-meaning Father has backed her into it - but the only way Signy will let these pompous brutes tromp uncontrolled all over her forest is over her dead body, so she volunteers as guide. 

It goes about as well as possible - which is to say, the outing is a disaster. She'd managed to mitigate some damage, saved Big Ears and Brushtail from the cookpot, but poor Snowy - beloved Snowy - was struck by the worst of the lot, that ghastly Ferdinand from Glorion. When the swans attack, her original suspicions are confirmed when not a single man spares a thought for their hostess and erstwhile bride before running in (rather comedic) terror.

What _is_ a surprise, is her swan who is really a prince - a prince who confesses love. For her.

But she's had lots of practice in surprises lately, and she manages to rein herself in long enough to realize that perhaps his love isn't true, either. Aldous looks at her the way a devout worshipper looks at their god - passionate and adoring - and blind. He sees a savior, the girl-turned-woman who gave his life renewed purpose, rescued him from the depths of desolation. The Signy Aldous loves is a perfect Signy, a glorious Signy, a Signy so high on a pedestal that only the clouds are companions. 

And she, the real Signy - she is kind, and clever, and brave, but she is also willful and rebellious and spoiled, and something in her stomach clenches at the thought of forever being compared to god-Signy, and eventually, being found wanting for it. 

And _honestly_ \- in three years the man (bird? Man-bird?) couldn't have found some ink and paper and written her a note whilst in possession of hands? Shown up at the castle after dark? He hasn't exactly been false, hasn't lied, per se - but he certainly hasn't been entirely truthful, either, and Signy feels as though a bridge has been broken, perhaps irreparably. He doesn't even have the grace to explain anything about his situation beyond the barest of detail, not even with his secret out.

But despite these newfound flaws, she still loves her friend, her first-ever friend, and she proposes to him anyways, because if she can break his curse then she must. And if what she feels is not true love between lovers, well, true friendship is far more than she'd expected to have with her future husband, and he is still far more tasteful than she's found any of her other options to be.

The feast and the ball arrive, but Aldous does not, and she worries for him even as a certain relief twists in her belly (she does not know which would be worse - to be married to someone who thinks of her with apathy, or reverence). 

Then suddenly he _is_ there, or perhaps not, because this is certainly not the swan (man) she is familiar with, and she is so very confused, but she gives away her future to Audwin-Aldous despite her misgivings, and then there are _two_ of them -

-and Signy is _intrigued_. 

It is not only the fact that Audwin-not-Aldous is the most interesting, layered person she's ever encountered, nor is it his power (she has hazy memories of an old woman, a mage, attending a feast once, and a back corner of her mind is running wild with curiosity and wonder - what is his magic like? what can he do?) It's not the elongated, pointed ears and flashing, life-changing eyes that declare him _something_ other than human, either. It's -

-the way he looks at her. 

She doesn't recognize it, not yet, but she'll puzzle it out. She always does.


	2. Two

Signy, the only child and heir of King Edward XII and the late Queen Beatrice (may she rest in peace), is about to storm the lair of a dangerous, possibly evil, inhuman sorcerer.

Alone.

Current quest aside, Signy is not stupid. She is, for whatever reason, the prize he wants. She does not believe he will harm her - frighten her, toy with her, but not harm. And she comes armed - with a tin of Cook's biscuits tucked in her cloak (and a rather poisonous trick up her sleeve).

The castle is in an uproar over her fiancé. Signy has heard countless lamentings and dire warnings and far-fetched assassination plots throughout the last day alone, but they all seem to be overlooking the fact that this is exactly what she'd be doing anyways, what they forced her into - marrying a virtual stranger with no clue as to ulterior motives or true personality. 

This suitor is certainly a bit of an odd duck (owl?) compared to the others, but for all intents and purposes the basic act is the same. True, he's tricked and manipulated, but it's not worse than what the rest have done, trying to buy or flatter her into acceptance. She almost appreciates the subtlety, because at least Audwin has treated her like a true opponent and not some empty-headed maid with an eye only for jewelry and cute animals. 

Besides - it makes far more sense, is much more advantageous, to make friends with the all-powerful magician than attempt to murder him or dodge his deal.

So, Signy decides, she'll take the hand Fate has dealt her and see if she can't at least smooth things over with her husband-to-be. 

She doesn't find Audwin's tower so much as is chased to it, and once she's slammed the door against whatever monsters lurk outside she takes a moment to savor the thrill of such a place.

It is dark, but meticulously clean - she supposes a dust-induced sneeze during a spell would be rather catastrophic - and filled with strange hissing instruments and odd glowing spheres and great stacks of scrolls. There are perches everywhere, with dark feathery shapes and unnatural glowing eyes roosting on them (though none of the other -  _ traces _ of crow infestation she would expect). It's dark, and eerie, and almost stifling - and absolutely fascinating.

The unblinking stares of the silent birds, however, begin to unnerve her and propel her up the wooden stairs to a small loft at the top of the tower. And there, on the bed in the corner, is a huddled cloaked figure, rasping weakly like Father in the midst of an attack. 

Signy hesitates before stepping nearer. This has been entirely too easy, she suspects, weakened condition or not, and - well - she's never been inside a man's bedroom before. It feels almost like a violation, which is ridiculous, since Audwin certainly had no compunctions about invading  _ her  _ home. 

She clears her throat, squares her shoulders, marches up to his bed. He truly does sound awful, nearly approaching death's doorstep, and despite herself she feels a flicker of concern - he really does look so much like Aldous, though more gaunt and pale. 

He's certainly not sleeping - she's faked it too many times herself to be duped by the same trick - so before she can over-think her actions she seats herself primly on the plush black coverlet, sets the biscuit tin in the clear middle ground and settles her skirts. When she reaches for a cookie - dipped in chocolate, the best kind - she catches glittering eyes staring at her in utter bemusement from underneath his hood.

Signy takes a deep breath, then offers a game - he'll tell a secret for every one of hers. She'll start, of course.

"I  _ despise  _ pickles."

She nibbles slowly at her treat, politely studying the opposite end of the room, desperately hopes she hasn't miscalculated as the seconds stack -

He is allergic to carrots, he extends warily. Not a  _ lethal  _ allergy, mind you, just one that makes the roof of his mouth itch, so don't get any ideas...

What do you know, she's allergic to shellfish. Nasty slimy things, she's honestly glad she has an excuse to avoid them…

Tension slowly leeches from her shoulders as Signy has what might be her first truly personal conversation with another human being (she wonders if, perhaps, it might be Audwin's first too, from the carefully too-casual way he offers tidbits about himself). 

The night passes almost enjoyably after the first awkward minutes, and they avoid all 'troublesome' topics by unspoken agreement. Audwin does not move, but the rigid way he holds himself relaxes, and after suspiciously sniffing a biscuit he helps himself almost ravenously. Far faster than expected, dawn approaches and the tin runs low.

Signy snaps the last cookie in half, holds out the piece with the chocolate on it. Audwin takes it, stares at it, twists it in his hands as though trying to discover some kind of secret, and suddenly launches into a babble about killing him and freedom and curses and naiveté. He sounds almost enraged, and for the first time Signy is afraid. 

The effort it takes to remain relaxed is almost excruciating, but she manages, and even though Audwin escalates, begins to raise his voice and gesture wildly, not once does he reach for her.

Finally he wears himself out, and lays silently watching her with the strangest expression. There is still bewilderment, yes, but it's overshadowed by a sad sort of expectation, of savage triumph -

He is waiting for her to disappoint him, she realizes suddenly - and how often has she felt the same? He must be waiting for revulsion, hate, scathing words, perhaps even a poisoned dagger to his throat -

(She wonders, observing this bitterly angry and desperately unhappy man, if some part of him wouldn't welcome death).

Well, she's spent the last three years upending expectations, and she doesn't intend to stop quite yet.

"Attempted murder seems a very poor start to a marriage. But if it makes you feel better, I suppose I can keep it on the table for later," she jokes lightly, collecting the empty tin. "To keep you on your toes or some such. If you're not going to eat the chocolate bit, hand it over."

Audwin stares at her wide-eyed through a curtain of dark hair, though he does pull the biscuit protectively to his chest. "What?"

"It's really quite late - or early, I suppose - and I have much to do today - preparations for our wedding, you know. Can I ask that nothing will try to eat me on the way back?"

Finally, faintly, he nods.

"Lovely. I'd ask you to walk with me, you see, but I'm sure you'd like to rest. Would you like me to come back here tomorrow, or would you rather come to the castle?"

"...Castle," Audwin says, still disbelieving, and Signy nods seriously.

"They all are rather frightened of you, I'm sure you enjoy that. And if you bring your birds," she adds pointedly, and the man actually flushes, "I'll make sure to have some bread available."

Signy stands, hovers for a heartbeat as she tries to figure how one is supposed to bid farewell in this situation, and Audwin leaps to fill the gap created by her first moment of uncertainty.

"Goodbye, my dear bride-to-be," he announces dramatically, smirking and making a funny sort of half-bow from his position on the bed.

Suppressing an amused snort, Signy follows his lead and sweeps low into a curtsey fit for the grandest of ballrooms and most important of kings. "Goodbye, my almost-husband. I'll expect your call tomorrow."

The sorceror's cackle follows her down the stairs and out the door, and while glowing green eyes and hoarse growls haunt her way back the path stays clear and she feels almost protected, rather than hunted.

When she returns she brushes off the usual clucking and fussing with the usual platitudes and reassurances. Honestly, she's been trained to deal with potentially-hostile dignitaries since birth (even if her actual experience is sorely lacking), and though she tries to rein it back she still feels  _ resentful _ , that even after all this time they still can't see  _ her -  _ hurt that even though they're going to hand her the crown soon they don't trust her to solve her own problems, much less those of Hundingas. 

She is not a porcelain doll, but they never stop trying to keep her safely on her little shelf. 

It's degrading, and while she knows this is merely a way they express their care, it is getting rather difficult to tolerate. 

When Audwin arrives the next evening (soaring majestically through the magically opened Great Door as an enormous black owl), he does indeed seem to relish the shrieks that arise with unholy delight. It's almost funny - like a mischievous child savoring the screams brought from displaying a caught toad - and Signy lets him have his fun for a few minutes before drawing him to her sitting room. 

He actually looks happy to see her, a lopsided smile on his elfin face, and to her own surprise she shares the sentiment. It really is amazing the bond that can come from just  _ talking  _ with a person, sharing yourself and listening and receiving in return. Even her interactions with Snowy/Aldous, previously the pinnacle of connection in her 18 years, had not been so - involved? Interdependent? 

Whatever the term, she is anxious for more of it, and so is Audwin, it appears. 

But business comes first, and once Aldous-the-swan sulks outside to guard the hall, Signy quickly reviews the wedding decisions that have been made today and requests his opinion. Audwin hasn't expressed any interest in the actual putting-on of the wedding before, just the event itself, but he seems to appreciate the courtesy and does list a few preferences (mostly more black and more feathers).

She promises to consider them, at least. 

They tuck into a fresh batch of biscuits brought by a quaking Ms. Roslin, and Audwin insists that it's clearly his turn to choose the activity, spins tales of magic and curses and crows. Her fiancé, Signy discovers, is a silvertongued wordsmith, and she has the most fascinating afternoon tea she's ever had. 

She can't suppress her curiosity. The first time she asks a question he sputters in indignation but answers regardless; after the third he narrows his eyes, sets his plate down with a rough clink. 

"Ah ah ah - you just want to learn the monster's weaknesses, don't you," he hisses in victory, waving a finger in sharp admonition. 

"No," she promises earnestly. "This is all just so  _ interesting _ , that's all. I just want to understand, I swear it."

He doesn't seem to quite believe her, and Signy can't force him to. She finally offers to just keep silent if it makes him more comfortable, and after several long seconds of uncertain scrutinization he declines. They  _ are  _ going to be married, after all, they ought to learn how to make it through an afternoon civilly, and after a few uncomfortable heartbeats he fumbles for his thread again and resumes his tale. 

Despite the bumps along the way, Signy remains undisintegrated, and Audwin loosens, lightens, more than he has yet, and perhaps a few more of the walls around his heart are lowered as he becomes more convinced of her sincerity. 

She urges him for another story, and another after that. 

Audwin pauses, twists his empty teacup between pale fingers, eyes her with flickering violet eyes from under black fringe, and the account he gives next is decidedly more sad.

An abandoned newborn, locked in a tower for perceived bad luck, grows up in a barren wasteland. Kept alive by the barest efforts of servants who dare not interact with him for fear of attracting a curse, who flee the moment he can feed and clean and clothe himself with the slightest ability, and batches of goods delivered in secret every few months. Eventually a wizard stumbles across him, teaches him the dark arts through an air hole, teaches him to read and write, though the lock on the tower can only be broken by those who share his blood. Accidentally released a decade later, the boy (now a man) witnesses the destruction of his homeland, turns his back on the people that did the same to him, casts a curse on the prince and his court with no longer anything to rule, brings them all to a lake in a forest in an inconsequential country far away...

Audwin's voice is flat, emotionless, but Signy does not miss the way his hands tremble on the crystal cup, or the way his eyes gradually flare a glowing blood red. When he ends, she is not surprised when the cup shatters into jagged chunks and black smoke. 

Heart in her throat, she grabs for his hands but they are mercifully unbloodied, and she breathes deeply. As Princess, future Queen, she ought to appear stoic, unflinching, untroubled - but this is the man who will be her Prince Consort, future King, and the one person she ought to be able to be free with - and she senses that a retreat into her drilled and well-worn royal mask would burn this fragile new bridge to cinders (and perhaps herself and/or her kingdom, as well). 

Audwin has been frozen since the moment their skin made contact, stares down at their hands with wide flickering eyes, like a wild animal being shown human affection for the first time and uncertain what to make of it. 

(No wonder, Signy thinks - when has anyone touched him with no motive but kindness? Likely never.) 

Good thing she's had plenty of experience with wild animals, then. 

He hasn't made a move or a sound to indicate his preference, so until then she keeps loose hold of his hands - they are large and warm, calloused and criss-crossed with hundreds of silver scars (and how many of those are from his trade, and not attempts to beat down the walls of his prison?)

When she finally speaks, low and slow and gentle, it is with emotion she has only ever reserved for Snowy and her other non-human friends, and she chooses her words with the careful precision of one crossing perilous waters on slippery stones. 

"That is  _ horrible _ , and I am so,  _ so _ sorry it happened to you."

Audwin startles briefly at her voice but returns his hands to hers with a desperate quickness that is not at all masked by a snide laugh. 

" _ But _ ?" he trills mockingly, and Signy shakes her head slightly.

It is not her place to try to fix him, or try to teach him lessons that the world has already shown him to be false - especially not when she has no way to see how deeply his trials have molded and made him. Certainly not her place as a broken girl of a mere seventeen years, who has spent the last several on her own personal mission of rebellion. 

She will listen, and validate, and empathize; hug him if she thinks he'd allow it; will offer advice if he asks it of her. She will  _ not  _ imply that his experiences weren't damaging and real and important. 

Not to say turning Aldous into a swan was a healthy coping mechanism, but she figures he already knows that on some level - and while she can model more  _ appropriate _ ways to handle life, she definitely can't force them down his throat.

"What happened to you was horrible," she repeats. "And I am so very sorry. No buts."

Audwin sneers, continues to wait, but Signy merely untangles one of her hands just long enough to grab a biscuit, and chews delicate Princess bites (otherwise it'd be gone far too fast, and she's not altogether sure that Audwin would let her go again - he is grasping her hands like he intends to forever).

The longer they sit in silence the more uncertain his fascinating eyes become, swirling faster and faster through a riot of colors. And eventually, abruptly, his hands seize, his shoulders slump, the fixed arrogant smirk on his face drops - and Audwin cries. 

Chest clenching in bone-deep sorrow, Signy forsakes propriety entirely and leans forward, wraps her arms around him and draws him close. Her sorcerer allows the embrace, clutches her back every bit as wretchedly as his tears soak her dress, and Signy finds that she can't stop herself from weeping, too. 

Who knows how long they stay like that, huddled together on the floor between their chairs, but it's long enough that the twilight through the windows has deepened to star-studded black by the time Audwin releases a shuddering sigh and peels himself from her shoulder.

"Not a  _ word _ about this to  _ anyone _ ," he warns, "Not a  _ word _ ."

Then he sniffles, which rather ruins the intimidation of his withering glare (his eyes, she realizes, are nearly clear as glass). 

"I promise," Signy says, giving him a watery smile, and though the jagged crack in her heart still remains, it is the least painful it has ever been.

For she recognizes the way he looks at her, the glimmer buried under layers of anger and scorn and bitterness. She feels it in herself.

A desperate, fading hope for love.


	3. Three

Signy, the only child and heir of King Edward XII and the late Queen Beatrice (may she rest in peace), is supposed to be having the happiest day of her life, but Prince Ferdinand of Glorion is apparently every bit a sore loser as he is loud and obnoxious.

(Which is to say,  _ very _ ). 

While everyone is in a tizzy with all the last-minute wedding details that need to be pulled off before that evening, an army storms Hundingras. It's broad daylight, barely after lunch, when the screams begin. 

Audwin isn't there, hiding away in the forest due to Father's fussy insistence that the groom not see the bride before the wedding. Desperately wishing she'd fought harder on that point, Signy clutches her hidden dagger, pressing her back to a gilded wall. But she's been expecting him to show up anyways for hours, just waiting for him to materialize out of the shadows with his signature smirk, and surely he must know something is amiss from one or another of his animal spies -?

And honestly, who in their right mind thought learning to play the lyre was of more importance than  _ self-defense _ ? 

When she has children, she thinks wildly, they're going to know how to fight.  _ Especially  _ if they're girls. And providing she - and he - survive the night, she is going to bully Aldous into teaching her the sword as well -

Oh,  _ where  _ is Audwin?

She can't find Aldous either, but as a swan he could do nothing in this battle but die heroically, and she's almost glad he's not here, prays he's still napping out in one of the garden ponds -

_ Where  _ is Audwin?

Glorion does have not very many soldiers here, she estimates, but then stealth and ambush were their goals and an entire regiment would defeat the purpose. Hundingras does not have many either. She vaguely remembers the Father having ordered troops to the borders in case Audwin had some sort of secret nefarious plan - of course they hadn't considered her opinion in that decision -

_ Where is Audwin? _

A man wearing the wrong colors stumbles into her, and she quickly drops her hilt to smash the vase that used to rest in this alcove-turned-hiding-place over his head. It shatters, shards slicing open her palms, but the soldier crumples like a dropped doll and she kicks him away so she has room to move if need be. 

Battle is far more messy and chaotic and loud than the clean, quiet ink on her scrolls could ever describe. Gurgling shrieks of dying men, the howling of the wounded, seem to echo off her skull, and Signy does not ever want to be the cause of such a sound - she'll use her knife if she must, but really, if it comes down to that she's already dead. 

Desperately swiping away tears, Signy fumbles for the sweat-slick hilt of her dagger again anyways and hunkers down. She can't escape this little niche, no shelter she can reach before she'd be cut down or snatched - her best hope is to try to stay unobtrusive, not attract attention, and pray some sort of opening arises soon -

_ WHERE IS AUDWIN? _

By the gods, the morning had started with such  _ promise _ . A week's worth of evening meetings may not be enough by which to really  _ know _ someone, but she genuinely likes Audwin - most of the time, at least. 

(She wonders if she might even love him, because when she is with him she somehow feels safe and free and  _ home _ , but she does not have the attention to devote to that right now.)

He is clever and witty, surprisingly thoughtful when he cares to be, creative and dramatic and sensitive - rather gray sense of morality aside, he listens to her, actually cares what she thinks, what she says.

(And he's rather attractive, she'll admit - who knew black and feathers could work so well?)

When she woke up this morning, she'd been actually excited - far more than she had ever realistically thought she'd feel for her husband. And now, with the way the tide is swinging, she doubts she'll even be alive to get married -

Another Glorion flails past, startles a yelp out of her as his sword flashes past her nose; he turns, eyes landing on the blasted tiara tangled in her hair, gives an ugly smile -

There is a sudden blood-curdling  _ SCREECH  _ that slices through the sounds of the fight, that makes the both of them flinch and whirl reflexively to find the source. A great black owl and a white swan soar through the broken doors of the Great Hall, accompanied by a storm of crows, and Signy's terror turns to elation. 

Battlecries turn to yells of horror as the crowd of smaller birds plummet into the fray, seeking colors of white and gold and orange and brutally harassing the bearers into fleeing. 

With the invasion quickly turning into a rout, the rescuers come to Signy's aid personally. Black smoke cascades, roils off Audwin's body as he lands; though he is no longer an owl, he certainly isn't human either. Eyes glowing unearthly scarlet through the haze, his nails and teeth lengthen to curved talons and fangs and his wicked smirk stretches impossibly wide as he looms ever taller. Swan-Aldous swoops overhead, hissing furiously, and the man who'd been about to assault her overcomes his shock to drop his weapon and bolt for the doors, screaming hysterically. 

Without thought Signy leaps at her fiancé, shattering his spell of illusion, and clings fiercely, great shuddering gasps of relief shaking her shoulders.

Muffled against his chest, she asks Aldous to check on Father, Ms. Roslin, Uncle Arthur, and the swan bobs his head and banks sharply to the back of the Hall.

Audwin's arms around her waist press her close, cradle her head, and though his tone is flippant as he assures her of her safety she can feel his hands shake. He promises he won't desecrate Glorion nor slaughter the escaping soldiers, but there's more than enough wiggle-room in his vow to make Signy suspicious, and she draws away to eye him skeptically. 

He's rolling his eyes when he stiffens, brings her hands forward in between them, and Signy abruptly remembers the state of her hands. 

If he looked dangerous before, he is positively murderous now, though his long, pale fingers are gentle as they stroke carefully along the sides of her cuts.

"My fault - I hit him with a vase, and it broke," she breathes, nudging the boot of the man she'd knocked out. Audwin snarls, and dozens of crows shriek raucously, swirl above in a dark cloud -

"No maiming in the Hall, please."

-dive and seize hold of the Glorion however they can dig their claws in, dragging unceremoniously outside. The doors pointedly slam close behind them. 

Audwin waves away her thanks, hisses a chant and tiny glittering shards of porcelain and dirt float out of the open wounds, deposit themselves in a tidy pile with the rest of the vase remains. "There - I've cleaned them, but to heal them, to permanently alter their state…"

"Would weaken you," Signy finishes. "I know. Now's not really the best time, is it, what with the invasion and all. Don't worry, I've been recovering just fine without magic for quite a while."

He scoffs, untucks his black tunic, rips several long strips from the bottom.  "Regardless. The moment I can, I will. Your mortal doctors are so inferior and  _ barbaric _ ."

"They've kept me alive this long," she points out as Audwin carefully wraps the cloth about her wounds, and he sneers. 

"And how much of that was your own constitution and dumb luck?" His eyes rake over the rest of her, intent. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I'm fine, otherwise - physically, at least.  _ That  _ was luck."

"Lucky for Glorion," he mutters, and he presses his lips to her bandaged hands with such studied nonchalance that he really just radiates anxiety. Signy blushes darkly - the man craves physical affection, and now that he is certain of her welcome he is always touching her in some small way when they are together. Despite this hunger, he is still shy enough that he has not dared to kiss her at all, so afraid of pushing her tolerance beyond its limits; though she's certainly entertained daydreams of kissing him she's respected this, respected him. The pressure of his mouth on her skin is enough to turn her knees to water and she swallows hard, rises onto her toes and gives a kiss of her own to his cheek. 

His whole face flushes pink, and a wondering hand releases hers and drifts to the receiving spot. 

"Lucky for Glorion," Signy agrees. She has no doubts about Audwin's capabilities and creativity, particularly when he perceives he's been wronged. He knows how she feels about harm for the mere pleasure of it, but while he's since restrained himself to more helpful forms of magic she isn't sure he'd hold back were she deliberately injured or killed. 

(She isn't sure she'd have enough goodwill in that situation to want him to).

"The  _ audacity _ , attempting to make off with my wife," he continues, clearing his throat though his ears and ears remain darkened. 

"Not your wife  _ yet _ \- there's the whole thing with vows and rings and cake…"

He waves a hand flippantly. "Semantics. Do you want to be married to me?"

"Of course!"

"Wonderful.  _ I _ want to be married to  _ you _ . Now that that's done -"

Father lurches down the stairs, wringing his hands and wailing and trailed by the others, including Swan-Aldous. It takes ages to pacify them, particularly once they spy her wrapped hands, but she finally manages and even persuades them that Audwin had, in fact, saved them all from an attempted coup.

Even though Audwin preens under the praise and effusive thanks (the remaining Hundingras soldiers have joined the crowd and are adding their gratitude as well) there's a disconcerted twist to his mouth that Signy recognizes - it's not  _ him  _ they're appreciative of, it's what he's done to benefit them. But, she allows, it's a start, and there haven't been any proclamations of doom upon her marriage within the last several minutes, which is rather nice. 

Speaking of their nuptials - regardless of the recent change in attitude towards her groom, Father and Ms. Roslin react with such scandal at his very mention of eloping that Signy puts her foot down on a compromise: the wedding that evening will continue, thank you very much.

They'll have a state funeral for the fallen, then the ceremony, in which she'll tie a black sash about her white dress in mourning. The feast and the ball can happen after the honeymoon, but they're not waiting to be officially married for who-knows-how-long and Signy is going to stick it to the arrogant Glorion fools who thought they could stop her.

Father grumbles while Ms. Roslin pats his thick arm consolingly, but he's clearly outnumbered. The ministers concede; Audwin huffs and puffs for a minute or two before granting approval, his hand still grasping hers with a tenderness that belies his supposed reluctance.


	4. Four

Signy, the only child and heir of King Edward XII and the late Queen Beatrice (may she rest in peace), is about to be married.

The casualties of the invasion are laid out in state on the front green on biers of wood, awaiting the last vigils of their families; guests stand before them in silent memorial before filing into the cleaned Great Hall, and those willing among their surviving comrades form an honor guard along the aisle. 

Audwin's crows, roosting around the ceiling or swooping overhead in flight, attract a few wary looks from the nobles but behave themselves well. Their master fidgets by the dias in a new black tunic and an elaborate feathered cloak, his lopsided smirk stretching wide when Signy appears on Father's arm, in Mother's dress, with a bouquet of fresh-picked wildflowers from the forest plucked by Aldous. Her first friend stands in human form by the priest as a witness, looking determined to be happy for her and attracting lots of titters from attending singles; as a newly appointed minister, he has promised to watch over things until they return. 

Aldous had run to fetch Audwin when he realized the fighting; though he had already been on his way in owl-form thanks to a warning from his pets, the act had won his respect and gratitude (although they still certainly don't  _ like _ each other, per say). 

(They'd sat Signy down before she threw herself into preparations and clarified their relation. Signy had rolled her eyes - really, the resemblance between them was truly uncanny and their enmity seemingly very personal, she'd had an expectation of the sort from the start - but thanked them for their honesty anyways.)

Audwin had offered to lift Aldous' curse, and those of his court, but they had all been swans for so long that an amendment was agreed upon instead. The spell was tweaked to allow transformation based on the user's will. Afterwards Signy had helped him stumble upstairs to her room, gotten him settled, and commanded him in her best Queenly tone to rest well so he'd be fresh for their wedding night (blushing redder than the garden's deepest roses the whole while). Audwin had cackled, slurred teasing jokes about her boldness, but his ears were pink and his smile genuinely delighted even after he fell into a restorative coma.

He certainly looks bright-eyed and bushy-tailed now, as she takes his arm and they step up the dias together, Ms. Roslin fussily arranging her train while Father joins Aldous across from the priest. 

The ceremony is short and sweet, aside from the necessary pomp and circumstance, and Signy hardly hears a word through the distraction of Audwin staring at her so intently and stroking her hands (still healing naturally, at her insistence). 

Their first kiss is better than her scrolls and songs and poems have attempted to describe, perhaps because it's finally  _ hers - theirs -  _ and not somebody else's. Their noses bump and there's a little fumbling to angle one's head correctly, but none of it is awkward, and Signy's soul soars in elation to join the crows cawwing in celebration in the rafters. 

Father coughs pointedly and she pulls away to see the same dazed awe mirrored on Audwin's face. With a jubilant laugh he tosses a hand skyward, and magical fireworks crackle and pop over the heads of the attendees. 

(Fireworks in the shapes of their faces, Signy notes, and she laughs too, high and loud and free).

Audein dances at her side with barely-concealed impatience while she gives a short address thanking everyone for attending, etc. etc., then summons enough purple smoke to obscure their giggling exit. 

Hand-in-hand they race for the forest; Signy's friends and Audwin's pets (wolves and weasels and stoats) caper about them in a reflection of their joy.

And she  _ is  _ joyful, she realizes. Maybe she doesn't know him completely yet, but she is excited to learn. She loves this proud, quirky man, with a sense of rightness that fills her chest to bursting. 

And Audwin (her husband, now) beams at her just as brightly as he conjures fairy lights to guide their way, and she can feel the weight of his love wrap around her heart and seal it tightly closed. "Well, Signy my wife - where to first?"


End file.
